


Never Far From Home

by dicklomatticimmunity



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, First Time, M/M, Masturbation in Shower
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-02
Updated: 2012-12-16
Packaged: 2017-11-20 01:51:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/579985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dicklomatticimmunity/pseuds/dicklomatticimmunity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean needs to take a cold shower. A really cold shower.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [You Create the Noise Inside my Head](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/14061) by rivers-bend. 



Some moments later, after Dean gets over the fact that he literally came in his pants, he realizes that the water has stopped running, which means he probably shouldn't continue to stand next to the bathroom door. He also realizes that he'll need to use the shower, himself, because his briefs are starting to get sticky and uncomfortable. So much for his plans.

At the very least, he should walk over to the bed, and, well, away from the bathroom. Sam is going to open the door any minute now, and he'll still be here with his hand against the door. He'll probably fall over and land on Sam, and that will be awkward.

Yeah. He needs to move. But he doesn't.

So when Sam opens the door, he's still standing there. He manages to shift his weight in time to stay upright, but he is only inches from Sam, all wet and muscular and too hot for words, jesus christ. He berates himself mentally for thinking of his brother that way, but it's hard not to when the only thing Sam is wearing is a towel around his waist and he smells of cheap soap, the kind that smells like clean and nothing else. It blends well with Sam's natural scent – something he can only describe as making him feel safe and comfortable – and though he has always noticed it before, this time, it wraps around his senses and clings to him, bringing his guard down and leaving him open to thoughts he really shouldn't be having.

He knows he's blushing because he can feel heat rising in his cheeks.

He's going to hell for this.

"Dean?" Sam's tone is unsettled. Dean notes that Sam's skin is a light pink, probably from intense scrubbing. He can practically _feel_ the warmth radiating from him.

He's also staring at Sam's chest. Sam has probably noticed that by now.

"Uh." Dean tries to think of an excuse, something that doesn't involve how he got off to Sam's voice a minute ago. He shifts his gaze upwards. "Was just about to knock. You've been in there a while, and I need to shower too."

Sam shifts uncomfortably. "How long have you been here?"

"Dude, I haven't been standing here," Dean lies. "And don't tell me you've used all the warm water."

An awkward silence follows. Dean thinks that Sam almost has him; Sam's got that look on his face that says he knows something is up but can't quite put his finger on it. Finally, though, Sam huffs resignedly and steps aside, and Dean squeezes past him. When Sam clears the doorway, Dean shuts the door.

That was close.

"Shit, Sam." The room is foggy, thick with steam. Dean removes his clothes hastily, turns the tap on, and steps beneath the spray. The cold water hits him hard, and though he would really like to have a warm shower, he needs this more. He needs to stop thinking about Sam, and, more than that, he needs to stop thinking about Sam moaning his name.

How long has Sam been having fantasies about him, anyway? He doesn't remember noticing any looks of _that_ kind of longing from his brother, though maybe Sam has been masking it. He knows that _he_ didn't start fantasizing about Sam until he saw his little brother – and oh man, he wasn't little anymore – the night he went to get him at Stanford. For weeks after that, he thought about how Sam had pinned him down, reversing their positions so quickly he hadn't had time to react, and it made him want to fight Sam just so he could feel that again, feel Sam's body over him with no way to get back on top.

"Fuck, Sammy," Dean moans, the words out before he can stop himself. He reminds himself that Sam can probably hear him – or had Sam been loud on purpose? The thought makes Dean shudder, and he replays Sam's shout in his head, accompanied with a visual of Sam, head thrown back, dark hair flattened to his scalp as he comes, spurts of seed washing down the drain.

" _Sam_." He shakes his head, then turns the tap all the way to the left, hoping that the added cold will put a stop to the mental images. The water feels like liquid hail against his skin, the icy cold sharp, almost painful, and it distracts him enough that he reaches for the soap and actually starts washing himself.

Unfortunately, it doesn't last. As Dean rinses the suds from his skin, he realizes he is hard again, his body long adjusted to the freezing water. He groans in frustration and presses a hand against the wall as he leans over, water pelting his scalp.

"Sammy," Dean whispers, almost a moan, and he closes his eyes. He thinks about Sam, water beading on his skin, following the curve of his muscles down his chest. He inhales sharply, the sound of Sam's moan echoing in his head, and god _that voice_ , so husky and deep and fucking _hot_. The mental images return, more vivid than before, and he has to purse his lips to hold back the moan that tries to escape.

Just be quiet, Dean tells himself, as he closes his hand around his cock. He knows this is risky, but he's beyond caring at this point. He strokes himself slowly at first, taking his time, savoring every touch. He presses his thumb against the skin close to his slit, just how he likes it, and when he moans, he doesn't bother to hold back. He falls into a slow, steady rhythm, hips rocking back and forth, his other hand slipping on the smooth tile.

He isn't at it for long when he notices the water is warmer than it was when he last adjusted it. Then, suddenly, the water is no longer pitter-pattering on his neck. A cool, muscular body presses against his back, pushing him against the wall, and Dean allows it to happen as his eyes snap open.

"Sam?" It’s a stupid question and he knows it, but he feels like he has to ask, anyway.

"Dean." That is definitely Sam, though he has never heard his brother's voice so deep, so _wrecked_. He feels Sam's cock slide between his cheeks, and he groans as he clutches uselessly at tile with both hands.

"Sam." His voice is rough with arousal. Sam's massive hand grasps his hip, then slips downwards, moving slowly over his wet skin. Sam's fingers wrap around his cock, and it's all Dean can do to not thrust against his brother's hand as Sam tugs gently, experimentally. He grits his teeth to stifle another moan as he rocks his hips into Sam, wanting to feel all of Sam against him, covering him.

"Dean." Lips brush against his earlobe as warm breath ghosts over his skin. "Tell me you want this."

"Sammy," Dean gasps. This isn't right – this isn't right at all – but he can't help himself, not when Sam is right there, practically wrapped around him in all the right ways. "Please. I need this."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean needs a cold shower. A really cold shower. He gets one, but only for a little while.

Dean is sure that, after this is all done, he's going to regret not leaving to get a six pack from the store, but right now, the only thing that matters is _Sam_.

"Tell me how you like it," Sam whispers, thumb grazing over the head of his cock, applying gentle pressure. Dean moans, squeezes his eyes shut, and lets the feeling of Sam's hand around his cock, body pressed against his, really sink in. His entire backside feels warm, much warmer than the rest of him, and he arches towards Sam's heat, needing more.

“God, Sammy,” he moans, hands flexing against the shower wall, fingers curling against tile before relaxing. “Please. Just – need you.”

Sam's thumb drags over the vein on the underside of his cock, and Dean feels unsteady, legs shaking as pleasure races through his body. He gasps, rocks his hips forward, showing Sam just how much he wants it, _needs_ it.

"Feels good, doesn't it," Sam says, heated breath brushing over Dean's ear. Sam's other hand grabs his hip, squeezes, then traces the line of his hipbone before gripping tightly and pulling him back, bodies flush against one another, wet skin sealing with a soft _slock_.

“Oh fuck, Sam,” Dean breathes, barely audible under the pitter-patter of water around them. Sam's erection slides between his cheeks, and his muscles tighten at the thought of Sam inside him, fucking him against the shower wall, pounding into him until the people in the next room complain about the noise.

“You have no idea how long I've wanted you like this,” Sam whispers, and Dean moans, because _fuck_ , he had no idea Sam knew how to talk dirty. His cock throbs, pre-come spilling from his slit, and Sam swipes it away, smearing it into his skin.

“For someone who's been wanting this for so long, you're doing a damn good job of holding back,” Dean says as he bucks against Sam's hand, pleasure buzzing through him like an electric current.

“Fuck, Dean.” Sam's voice is breathy, strained, warm against the shell of his ear. “Want to learn every inch of you. Want to know how to touch you, make you come with my name on your lips.” Sam's lips curl against his skin, forming a smile, and then Sam bites his neck, scrapes teeth over his skin. He hisses, pleasure-pain racing through him as he thrusts against his brother's hand, so aroused, wanting Sam to just _get on with it_ already.

“Tell me more,” he says, voice husky. “Fuck, Sam, please.”

"I think about you a lot," Sam replies, and Dean can feel Sam's lips move, dragging against his neck. "You, and your lips. So goddamn distracting." Sam presses harder, and Dean lets out another loud moan. "I have to jerk off every night we go to a bar because all I can think about is your freaking _lips_."

Dean's reply is cut off when Sam rocks his hips forward, practically humping him. A moan escapes him through gritted teeth as he tilts his head back, unbearably aroused, desperate for release, unable to stop thrusting against Sam's hand.

“What do I do with my lips?” Dean asks, even though he's pretty sure he knows what the answer is. He wants to hear Sam say it, in his filthy, wrecked, strung-out voice.

“Depends,” Sam replies, tone shifting. “Sometimes, I fuck your throat with my cock. Your lips stretch around me, and it's so fucking hot.” Sam shoves his hips forwards again, and Dean groans, hands clutching uselessly at tile, knuckles white. “Sometimes, I'm kissing you, and when I pull away, your lips are red, so swollen, and I kiss you harder, want to make you mine.”

A shiver goes up Dean's spine. He had no idea his brother was so possessive. Maybe he should show Sam who's boss, make his brother take his cock –

That thought is cut short by a wave of pleasure so strong that it makes Dean's vision white out. When he can see again, he finds that Sam's finger has found the v of skin on the underside of his cock, and _oh_ , that feels amazing.

"Knew it," Sam whispers, triumph in his tone, as he presses his finger more firmly against the sensitive spot. "Knew you'd never given yourself this.”

“Sammy, please,” Dean begs, voice faint, thready. His entire body feels like it's going to combust, too much pleasure, overloading his senses, so close to going supernova.

"You're so close, Dean," Sam says, no more than a husky whisper. "I can feel it. Fuck, Dean. You'd do anything to come, wouldn't you."

" _Yes_ ," Dean hisses. Everything is a blur centered on Sam's finger. If it weren't for Sam, he's sure he would be on the floor by now because fuck, _fuck_ , this is the most amazing thing he's ever felt.

"Going to make you come, Dean," Sam breathes. "Going to make you come so hard." Sam's finger slides away from the v of skin, replaced with his entire hand a fraction of a second later. Sam's fingers slide smoothly over him, and he loses it, thrusting against Sam's hand, pleasure coiling inside him, and before he can get it under control, he can't take it anymore. His entire body tenses, preparing itself, but that's when sudden intensity blinds him.

“ _Sam!_ ” Everything goes white as he comes, thick ropes smearing against tile as it pours out of him. Sam continues to stroke him until he's spent, and then his entire body sags, energy gone. He can feel himself sliding down the cool tile, even as he tries to keep his feet under him and stay upright. Eventually, he gives in, and that's when Sam's arms wrap tightly around him, holding him up.

The feeling of Sam's cock against his ass, still hard, reminds him of a minor detail.

“Hey,” he says, still trying to catch his breath. “You didn't –“

“It's fine, Dean,” Sam says. “I'll take care of it.” He sounds aroused, strung-out even. Dean makes up his mind, and he turns in an attempt to meet Sam's eyes.

“No way. You said I had great lips. Let's see if I can put them to good use.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean isn't going to let Sam's needs go unattended.

They make it to the bed quickly. Dean pushes Sam backwards towards the mattress, then follows, straddling Sam's hips and leaning down. He's still shaking, barely over his own orgasm, but he isn't going to let Sam slip by without getting the attention he deserves.

He cups his brother's cheeks, framing Sam's face in his hands, then kisses him. He can taste Sam, taste the mint of toothpaste on his brother’s lips. His thumbs stroke idle circles over Sam's cheekbones, slipping into the dimples, pulling at them gently before sliding his hands down to Sam's neck, tracing the lines of his brother's throat.

Sam's large hands are on his back, gripping him tightly and pulling him down, closer to his brother's body, but no matter how close they get, the heat shared between their wet, slick bodies isn't enough.

"Sam," Dean whispers, breaking the kiss briefly before intensifying it, tongue sliding over his brother's lips. His hands slide over Sam's chest, feeling the expanses of hard muscle beneath smooth skin. He rubs his fingertips into Sam's nipples, and grins in the kiss when they harden beneath his touch. The amulet around Dean's neck hangs between them, a cool, unyielding presence between layers of heat.

He draws in a sharp breath when Sam pinches his nipples, and he breaks the kiss, letting out a soft moan as Sam twists his nipples, rolling them gently between fingertips.

"Fuck." Dean's voice is barely audible over his heavy breaths, loud against his own ears. He kisses Sam's neck, droplets of water vanishing beneath his lips as Sam turns his head, exposing more skin. He grips Sam's biceps as he kisses his way down his brother's body, slowly making his way to his brother's left nipple.

Sam's arms tense around him, and he barely has a second's notice before Sam flips them, rolling them until Dean's back is against the bed. He lets out a surprised grunt, more turned on now than he thought he could be by such a simple maneuver. He had no idea that Sam being on top of him like this could be so arousing, but he wants it, wants it so badly that he can't help but buck against Sam, already half-hard, and give Sam a pleading look.

"Dean..." Sam moans, eyes blown wide with lust. "Fuck, Dean. I need you." He kisses Dean, and Dean returns the kiss, wrapping his arms around Sam, holding his brother down against him.

He remembers that Sam hasn't come yet. He also remembers that he promised to do something with his lips, but Sam seems to have forgotten that, because he can't do anything from this position.

"Sam." Dean breaks the kiss and looks up into Sam's eyes. "Scoot up."

"What?" Sam says, confusion knitting his expression, but Dean grabs his brother's ass and squeezes, then attempts to pull his brother forward. Understanding dawns on Sam's face, and then, of all the things Sam could do, he _resists_.

"Sam?" Dean asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Too close," Sam breathes, hot and heavy. "Need you. Want to ride you. Fuck." He kisses Dean's neck, pulling at his skin with determined lips.

Dean gasps and tilts his head back, watching with half-lidded eyes as Sam plants kisses all along his neck. Sam's lips are wet against his skin, each touch leaving a pool of warmth in its wake. Sam continues to kiss his body, leaving a trail that goes over his left nipple and down the line of his hipbone.

"Jesus, Sam." Dean shoves his hip up against Sam's mouth. "I -- _fuck!_ " He presses his head against the pillow, vision blurring around the edges as Sam's teeth sink into his skin, leaving a mark that will definitely be there in the morning.

"Hmm?" Sam hums against his skin, dark eyes looking up at Dean.

"Sam, please," he begs, and now _he's_ the one that sounds wrecked. He wants Sam, wants him in ways he hasn't considered before. He reaches down to grab Sam's ass, and he squeezes again, sinking his fingers deep into his brother's skin, reminding Sam of who came out of the shower without getting off. "Let me."

"Need lube," Sam mutters, kissing his way back up Dean's body.

"I know," Dean says. He reaches out to the nightstand, and his fingertips clasp around the edge of the drawer before he pulls it out. He grabs the bottle inside and pulls it out, not bothering to shut the drawer again as he flips the cap with an audible _pop_.

"Gimme," Sam says, his voice heavy, breaths coming out in long rushes of air. Dean hands the tube to him, and he watches as Sam pours a copious amount of the clear liquid onto his large palm. Sam closes the tube and casts it aside, then slides his hand over Dean's erection.

"Oh god, _Sam_ ," Dean moans, watching as Sam's hand works around his cock, spreading the cool gel until it covers him completely. He looks away, the sight enough to make him come. His fingertips dig into Sam's skin, squeezing harder, and he hopes it's enough to convey how much he needs Sam, needs him _now_.

“Hey,” Sam says, and Dean opens his eyes, just in time to see his brother slide a hand behind him, right over his own. His breath hitches as Sam pushes a finger inside himself, and he quickly focuses back on Sam's face, watching his brother's eyes flutter closed, lips parting in a low, blissful moan.

“Fuck, Sammy,” Dean whispers. He slides his hands down the backs of Sam's thighs in an attempt to distract him from how fuckable his brother looks right now. He can feel the muscles quivering, straining with Sam's weight, and _fuck_ , fuck fuck fuck, that's really not helping, but it's all he can do to not watch Sam spread himself open for him, one lubed finger sliding in, and then another, followed swiftly by a third.

“I'm so close,” Sam says as he withdraws his fingers. “Fuck, Dean. Fuck.” He scoots forward and wraps his fingers around Dean's cock, then eases himself down until the tip is against his stretched skin.

“Sammy,” Dean moans, and he opens his mouth to urge Sam on, but he's suddenly inside his brother, gliding in swiftly, filling his brother as Sam's body sinks towards his. It doesn't take long for him to bottom out, but when he does, he can tell from the way Sam closes a finger around the base of his cock that his brother had nearly come, just from this.

“Oh god, Dean,” Sam breathes, barely audible. “So big. Please.” He shifts, slightly, making Dean slip out an inch or two before settling back down, filling him again. “Fuck me.”

Dean slides his hands to Sam's hips and grips them tightly before setting an unrelenting pace. Sam moves with him, those large hands moving to grip his shoulders, knuckles turning white against his skin. The _smack-smack_ of skin against skin becomes increasingly louder, and heat builds between them, making the air around them hot and moist. His entire body feels like it's going to explode as he struggles to keep his grip on Sam's damp skin.

He lifts his gaze to meet Sam's, and he feels as though his soul has been clenched, hard. Something tugs at him, and suddenly, everything is very surreal. Sam clutches at him tighter, nails digging into the backs of his shoulders.

Neither of them last much longer. He pounds into Sam once, twice, a third time, and then a moan-shout escape his lips. He comes inside Sam as his brother contracts around him, the too-tight heat making stars dance in his vision. Sam is there with him, a shout echoing in the motel room before he comes, white slick spilling between them and onto his chest.

Dean goes limp, exhausted, and stares upwards, only for Sam to collapse on top of him, settling his entire weight onto him. Their heavy breaths fill the otherwise silent room as Dean tries to wrap his head around everything that has just happened.

Dean is the first to speak. "Sam."

Sam makes a contented noise that sounds vaguely like gibberish, and then he opens his eyes. Dean looks at him, and the unsettled feeling he has must be evident, because Sam’s expression relaxes, smoothing over into calm.

"It's okay, Dean," Sam says. He grasps the back of Dean's shoulder in an affirming gesture. "I've... been wanting this for a while."

Dean nods, slowly, as though doing so will help him absorb Sam’s words. He can't help but feel that he was completely oblivious to his brother's desire, and that's just not right. _He's_ the master of the chase, after all, not Sam.

“How long have you been trying to get my attention?”

Sam shrugs. "A few weeks."

Dean can feel the heat pooling in his cheeks. Sam laughs at him, and that makes Dean smile. If Sam has found a reason to laugh, then everything is right with the world.

“Next time, you should just...” Dean tries to think of something, but he can't.

“Fuck you in the shower?” Sam suggests. “Wrestle you, running on the idea that the loser bottoms? Pin you to the wall?”

"Okay, okay, I get it. Bitch," Dean says. He stretches and relaxes beneath his brother, content.

“Jerk,” Sam says, a wide grin on his face.

Dean smiles and closes his eyes. He waits until Sam's breathing falls into an easy rhythm on top of him, and then he allows himself to fall asleep, too.


End file.
